


you don't have to say i love you (to say i love you)

by peter_parkerson



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anesthesia, Anxiety, Fluff, Gen, Hospitals, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Cuddling, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, literally the only piece of fluff i've ever written lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 21:57:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20021677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peter_parkerson/pseuds/peter_parkerson
Summary: “Hi, Mr. Stark,” Peter says softly. He hooks his ankles around each other and wants nothing more than to take Tony’s hand. He doesn’t.Tony does. With no hesitation, he grabs Peter’s fingers, tugging on his left hand -  his grip is loose and the tug is weak, but Peter still lets himself tilt forward until Tony seems satisfied. Which, as it turns out, isn’t until his face is buried in Tony’s shoulder. His hospital gown makes it just a little difficult for Peter to breathe, but it’s fine. Because he’s here. Just like always. Just like he’s supposed to be.Apparently, Tony is touchy when he’s high.Or, Tony is really sweet when he's on anesthesia.





	you don't have to say i love you (to say i love you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bucketheadbob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketheadbob/gifts).



> i wrote this for one of my best friend's birthday. happy birthday, darling. i love you <3

They have to put Tony under to perform surgery on his heart.

It’s not life-threatening, the doctors say. It’s a small, minimally invasive, routine procedure, they say.

Peter knows all of this, and yet his hands still shake for the whole hour that Tony is in the operating room. 

Waiting is...hard, to say the least. He hates hospitals, has hated hospitals ever since he was fourteen and he and May had to drive Ned to the hospital during one of their sleepovers because he was crying from stomach pain at 2:00 AM. Turned out he had appendicitis, and Peter spent an hour shaking in the waiting room while May tried to talk him down from what remains one of the worst panic attacks of his life. 

He _knows_ that this isn’t the same thing. Tony’s not actually in danger - the chances of anything going wrong are less than five percent - but Peter’s body still vibrates with anxiety nonetheless. 

_Less than five percent_ , he thinks, means something entirely different to most people than it does to him. Even Pepper and Rhodey seem calm - relatively so, at least - while Peter is...antsy. Tense. 

Parker Luck is alive and well, after all.

But for once, Parker Luck lets him be.

After sixty-three minutes and twenty-eight seconds (Peter counted. Sue him.), Helen Cho steps into the waiting room and says, “He’s out of surgery.”

Peter shoots out of his seat so fast that he almost trips and falls on his face. 

Both Pepper and Rhodey, who are sitting on either side of Peter, swivel to look at him, and he automatically drops back into his chair. Rhodey’s gaze is knowing, while Pepper’s is just...soft. Fond. 

Well. There goes his dignity.

(Who is he kidding? His dignity deserted him ages ago.)

“Is he awake?” Rhodey asks, and Peter’s impossibly grateful when the focus of the room shifts from him to Dr. Cho. 

“He’s coming out of the meds, yes. He might be a little loopy for a while, though.”

Peter’s itching to stand up again, but he forces himself to wait. 

Pepper’s hand finds Peter’s knee and squeezes gently, reassuringly. He relaxes just a little. “Can we see him?”

Dr. Cho purses her lips, clasping her hands behind her back, and says, “Yes, but it’d be best if just one person came back for now, just until he’s a little more lucid. Pepper, would you -”

“Peter, you go.”

His head whips toward her. “What?”

Pepper just smiles at him, free hand moving to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Go see him. Rhodey and I are used to this type of thing, but it’s clearly making you anxious. You can go first, it’s okay.”

Oh. 

She’s letting him go first because he probably still looks like he’s on the edge of a panic attack, despite how completely and entirely unnecessary his fear ended up being. 

Normally, he’d protest. Normally, he’d insist that he’s fine, that Pepper’s his _wife_ so of course she should go first, that if not her, Rhodey should go first as Tony’s best friend. Normally, he’d say that he’s not nearly as close to Tony as Pepper and Rhodey are, so obviously he can wait.

But Pepper’s right. Even though this - the whole waiting for Tony to get out of surgery thing, minor or not - is normal to her and Rhodey, it’s not normal for Peter. 

So, hoarsely, he says, “Okay,” and follows Dr. Cho out of the waiting room.

* * *

Tony is half asleep when Peter walks in.

The blanket on the hospital bed is only pulled up to his waist, making the bandages around his torso visible, and there’s an IV line running from Tony’s right arm to the machine next to the bed. He’s a little pale and the white bandages are way too stark against his skin, but he’s alive. 

There’s a little rolling chair beside the bed. It squeaks loudly and harshly when Peter sits in it.

Tony’s eyes flutter open. “Petey?”

That’s...new. May calls him that every once in a while, mostly just when he has nightmares, but no one else has called him _Petey_ in years. Especially not Tony.

He kind of likes it.

“Hi, Mr. Stark,” Peter says softly. He hooks his ankles around each other and wants nothing more than to take Tony’s hand. He doesn’t. 

Tony does. With no hesitation, he grabs Peter’s fingers, tugging on his left hand - his grip is loose and the tug is weak, but Peter still lets himself tilt forward until Tony seems satisfied. Which, as it turns out, isn’t until his face is buried in Tony’s shoulder. His hospital gown makes it just a little difficult for Peter to breathe, but it’s fine. Because he’s here. Just like always. Just like he’s supposed to be.

Peter knew his anxiety was irrational. He did. But even so, it didn’t start to fade until now. 

Tony lets go of Peter’s hand, but it’s only a second before his fingers slide, instead, into Peter’s hair. He has to hold back a laugh as a loopy Tony twirls strands of his hair around his pinky, letting his eyes close and the stiffness in his shoulders melt. 

Apparently, Tony is touchy when he’s high. 

Which is nice. A little bit suffocating, but nice. Tony never actually refuses to touch him when he’s sober, but Peter can always tell that he’s not nearly as comfortable with being touched as he tries to pretend he is. As comfortable as Peter is, pretty much all the time. 

They’ve both got their issues. Evidently, though, the anesthesia is enough to make Tony forget.

Peter has to pull away to breathe eventually. When he does, Tony makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine, fingers grabbing aimlessly at the air by Peter’s shoulder. Peter can’t stop himself from laughing this time, because Tony looks so...childish and needy and petulant and all these things Peter has never seen in him before.

Carefree. Untroubled. 

Peter’s grin falters. 

As soon as it does, Tony’s brow furrows and his mouth pulls down into a frown. Words slurring, he says, “Wha’s wrong, Und’roos?”

Peter shakes his head, reaches up to take Tony’s hand again and clutch it in both of his. He leans forward, elbows settling on the bed, and rests his chin gently on top of their joined hands. Gives Tony a tight smile and tells him, “Nothing’s wrong, Mr. Stark.”

Something _is_ wrong, but...it’s more of an _in general_ thing than an _at the moment_ thing. The type of thing that he can worry about later.

“Then why do you look…” Tony’s free hand, the one with the IV, waves vaguely and he squints up at Peter. He’s struggling, trying to find the words, clearly fuzzy from the drugs. “...sad? You’re not supposed to be sad.”

“I’m not,” Peter says firmly, and he really isn’t. He’s still a little shaky, but he’s not _sad._ Not at the moment.

He wonders, sometimes, if Tony is. In general, that is. He thinks maybe Tony is both happy and sad all at once, and he wonders, sometimes, if Peter himself is too. 

Right now, happy is winning. For Tony, it’s the drugs. For Peter, it’s the relief.

“Good,” Tony huffs. “I don’ like it when you’re sad.”

Oh. 

Okay.

It’s not like Tony’s never said anything like this to him before. Contrary to popular belief, the genius does have a soft side, one that tends to appears in the form of gentle words and one-armed hugs when Peter is just upset enough to actually tell him _what_ he’s upset about. But in every case before now, it’s taken a lot more struggling on Tony’s part to drag the soft side out. 

“Well, I’m - I’m not,” Peter repeats, watching as Tony shifts around in the hospital bed as if he’s got an itch somewhere he can’t scratch with his left hand and doesn’t find urgent enough to be worth releasing Peter’s. “You’re okay, so...there’s no reason for me to be sad, anyway.”

Tony nods contentedly. “That I am. Can’t let something as stupid as my - m’heart thing kill me. Hafta go out with a bang, y’know? That way you all remember me as _Tony Stark: World’s Best Superhero._ ”

Before he can think better of it, Peter tilts his head so that his cheek presses into the top of his own hand and muses, “What about _Tony Stark: World’s Best Mentor_ , instead?”

He knows, even as he says it, that the words never would’ve come out of his mouth if Tony wasn’t drugged. If Tony hadn’t already started it.

Still, he half-expects Tony to stiffen, to pull away, to freeze up. Because Tony tries, he always tries, but sometimes he just can’t handle these moments, the sappy, sentimental ones. It’s harder for him than it is for Peter, and he’s learned to understand that.

“Mm,” Tony hums. The lines in his forehead are smoother than Peter’s ever known them to be. “You’re right, that’s even better. That way I’ll be known for my greatest accomplishment.”

“I - you - you think -” The words won’t come. The words won’t come because Peter can’t find them because he has _no_ idea what he’s supposed to say to this.

The thing is, he can’t be sure if this is the drugs talking or not. If Tony just doesn’t have a filter at the moment or if he actually doesn’t know what he’s talking about. If he asked later, when Tony was fully present, would he say he meant it?

Peter doesn’t think it matters.

Whether he would say he means it later or not, he clearly means it now. 

When he finally finds words, what comes out of his mouth is, “Didn’t you save the world, like, twice?”

Tony scoffs, rolls his eyes. Says flippantly, “Eh. World’s a shitshow, anyway. You’re not.”

_Oh._

Okay _._

Tony’s eyes are bright. Glassy, but bright. Earnest. 

There’s no doubt in Peter’s mind that Tony means this one. And he’s speechless - completely, totally speechless.

“Petey. C’mere.”

“...I’m already here, Mr. Stark.” He’s always here.

Tony, scooting to his left to make room on the bed, tugs on his hand again, insistently. “Come _here,_ kiddie. You look tired.”

He _is_ a little tired. Winding down from anxiety episodes always does make him tired.

Peter lets go of Tony’s hand to climb onto the hospital bed next to him, careful not to jostle him too much as he curls into his side, tucking his head into the juncture between Tony’s chin and his shoulder while his mentor’s arm wraps around his torso. Tony’s fingers run lightly up and down his arm while Peter’s twist into the fabric of Tony’s hospital gown.

For a while, it’s quiet. It’s quiet and peaceful and serene and Peter thinks he’d be content to stay here for hours.

Just as he thinks Tony is starting to drift off to sleep, Peter whispers, “I love you too, Mr. Stark,” because the phrase _I love you_ might not have actually come out of Tony’s mouth, but Peter heard it. He heard it.

Tony’s breath catches, and Peter hears it. Tony’s arm tightens around him, and he hears it. 

And he doesn’t have to say it (because Peter knows. He _knows_.), but he does anyway.

Tony murmurs, “Love you, kid,” and Peter hears it and he knows.

He falls asleep to the rhythm of Tony’s heartbeat, constant and invariable and unwavering.

Steady. 

(Safe.)

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [tumblr](https://peter-parkerson.tumblr.com/)


End file.
